sufferer could be tied and made taut by winding the windlasses. By means of the oars, in the hands of two strong men, the windlasses could be turned so that the victim’s legs and arms were slowly pulled out of their sockets. Even the dreaded Scavenger’s Daughter was not more feared than the rack.
“You…you would put me on the rack…in the hope that I would betray the innocent?” asked Anne.
“We would put you there that you might betray the guilty.”
She looked at the men about her, and her eyes rested on the anxious face of the Lieutenant of the Tower, but he could not bear to meet her glance. He said: “My lords, I like this not. A lady…to be put on the rack!”
“Those are His Majesty’s orders,” said Wriothesley.
Knevet turned away. “If you are sure, gentlemen, that these are the King’s commands, then we must obey them.” He turned to Anne. “I appeal to you, madam. Give us the names that we ask of you, and save yourself from torture.”
“I cannot give names merely to save myself from pain. How could I?”
“You are brave,” said the Lieutenant. “But be guided by me. Give the names…and have done with this miserable affair.”
“I am sorry,” said Anne steadfastly.
“Then,” said Wriothesley, “we have no alternative. Madam, you will take off your robe.”
She was made to stand before them in her shift, whereupon they placed her on the rack and attached the ropes to her emaciated wrists and ankles.
“Are you sure,” said Wriothesley, “that you wish us to continue?”
“You must do with me as you will.”
The Chancellor and Solicitor-General signed to the two men who had taken their stand at each end of the trough.
Slowly the windlasses began to turn; her poor sagging body became taut, and then… such agony took possession of it that for one terrible moment she must scream aloud for mercy. But almost immediately she was lost in blessed unconsciousness.
They would not allow her to remain in that happy state. They were splashing vinegar on her face. She opened her eyes, but she did not see the men about her; she was aware only of her sagging body held to the ropes by her dislocated limbs.
Wriothesley said: “The pain is terrible, I know. Endure no more of it. Merely whisper those names.”
She tried to turn her face away. Her lips began to move; but as Wriothesley put his ear close to her face, he was disgusted to find that she gave no names; it was but prayers she uttered, prayers for courage and the strength to endure her pains.
Wriothesley cried out in anger: “Again! Again! The woman is a fool. Let her suffer for her folly. That was merely a taste. Now let her have the full fury.”
“No…no…” cried Anne’s lips. “This…is…too…”
She had believed, a few seconds before, that she had learned all she could ever know about pain, that she had suffered it in all its malignancy, its fullest and most venomous powers. She was mistaken. Here was woeful agony, excruciating, exquisite torture, the very peaks of pain. “Oh God, let me die… let me die….” Those words beat on and on in her brain.
But they would not let her die. They would not let her long enjoy the benefit of unconsciousness. They were there, those evil men, bringing her out of the blessed darkness to suffer more pain.
“Names… names… names….” The words beat on her ears.
“Oh, God,” she prayed, “I had not thought of this. I had not thought I could endure so much and live. I had thought of the quick sharp pain. Death by the flames could not bring such agony as this.”
She heard the voice of Wriothesley beating like an iron bar on her shattered nerves:
“I will have those names. I will. I will. Again. Again. Give it to her again. You men are soft. You are too gentle. By God, I’ll have those names.”
Sir Anthony Knevet intervened: “My lords, I protest against this additional racking. The lady has been put to the test. That is enough.”
“And who, sir,” demanded the Chancellor, “are you to say what shall and what shall not be done?”
“I am the Lieutenant of this Tower. I am in sole charge in this Tower. The lady shall not, with my consent, be tortured further.”
“And who has placed you in command of this Tower? You forget to whom you owe your honors. This is rank disobedience to His Majesty’s orders. I will carry reports of this to the King, and we shall see how much longer you remain Lieutenant of the Tower, sir.”
Sir Anthony grew pale. He was afraid of the Chancellor and the Solicitor-General, for the two stood firm against him. But when he looked from them to the halfdead woman on the rack, he boldly said: “I cannot give my consent to the continuation of the racking.” He turned to the torturers. “Hold!” he ordered. “Have done.”
Wriothesley laughed.
“Then must we do the work ourselves. Come, Rich!” he cried; and he threw off his cloak. “We will work this together. We will show the lady what happens to those who defy us. As for you, sir Lieutenant, you will hear more of this matter. I, personally, shall convey the tale of your disobedience to the King.”
Knevet walked out of the chamber.
Rich hesitated; the two professional torturers, who dared not disobey the Lieutenant’s orders, stood watching. But Wriothesley had pushed them aside, was rolling up his sleeves, and, signing to Rich to do the same, he took an
